


It Was You All Along

by Meloncholor



Category: The Witcher, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Dream Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-13 07:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21490639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloncholor/pseuds/Meloncholor
Summary: After the incident with the jinn, Geralt has to rethink what love is in the first place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 331





	1. This was what you wanted.

That final resonating boom thundered in his ears like whatever gods that could have been were calling out to him. Crackling spires of light cascaded around across the blue sky above them in jagged patterns, nearly blinding him in their brilliance. And then it was over. His eyes were drawn back down, but Yennefer was gone. In her place stood a man, eyes also drawn up into the sky, auburn curls swaying with the dying wind. “Beautiful, isn’t it Geralt?” The voice asks in a near whisper. The witcher’s heart pounds in his chest and he whips his head in a circle, searching for the speaker, as the voice came from somewhere much farther away. “It must be nice to be free from a prison of your own making.” Geralt opens his mouth to say something, but the words are torn out from his lungs before he can get to them, instead, he tries mouthing out his thoughts but it feels like his body isn’t his own. The wind stands completely still on the snowy mountain, and the sun’s light bored on them like concentrated fire. Geralt shifted, trying to move out of the rays of searing heat but his legs are planted in place, as though deep roots had sprouted from the soles of his boots. The other man is unaffected by the searing heat that was starting to make Geralt sweat, and his hair was still being tossed about like the wind was howling around them. “Geralt?” The voice asks again, pounding from the back of his own skull. He tries to croak a response, but his throat is so dry his breath catches before the words even reach his lips. The man starts to turn, probably looking for an answer, but before any of his features come into view Geralt’s blinded by a harsh white light.

He woke up like he’d never had air in his lungs before, jolting upright from the cheap bed, eyes wide and darting around the room. Fear and awe stung behind his eyes, and all his muscles were tense with anticipation. Everything was a blur, the greys and muted browns swirled across his vision as he swallowed heavy gulps of air. The dingy room eventually shifted back into place, and he finally felt in touch with reality. Sweat made the stray locks of silver hair stick to his forehead and neck in uneven patches. He felt like the sun’s rays were still hitting him. The musical twang of the strange man’s voice still resonated with him, the familiarity nearly sent a chill down his spine. And he knew his dreams were never anything to take lightly. “ _ Shit _ .” he grouses. Geralt swings his legs off the edge of the bed, throwing his sheets aside. 

She stirs in the other room and he freezes in place. Her breathing isn’t even enough for her to actually be sleeping, and the sound was too close to the wall for her to be laying down. She was listening to him. If this was going to be their whole trip, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to just ditch her here or not. It was strange, having her in the other room. She was usually curled into his side by this time in the morning, snoring softly. But the thought of her being here repulsed him. Something about it made his skin crawl, and he couldn’t even remember how he had believed otherwise. Well, he could remember, but the jinn must have worked pretty damn hard to make him believe differently. Yennefer was the last person he wanted or needed to see right now. And either she had felt his negative vibes through the thin wall, or she was smart enough to stay quiet because he heard her settle back into the sheets, probably laying back down. He debates going back to bed, sleep was a fleeting thing these days, and he would need as much as possible, at least to deal with her. He shakes his head willing the sleep away, Geralt was never one to sleep in. With a sigh, he stands. 

The only window in the room was open, allowing the sound from the waking city below to filter in, it took a bit of concentration to filter out the idle conversation and clanking of carts on the cobblestone roads. The light of the early sun pierced through the crack, damn his sensitive eyes. He squints away the last of his sleep and then stretches the muscles in his back and shoulders. He does a quick survey of his unpleasant surroundings, not that he wouldn’t have noticed anyone breaking in. His kit was in a well-worn pack slumped against a wobbly table on the other side of the room. Some of his other effects were scattered here and there, but on the whole, nothing was missing. It didn’t take long for him to gather his things together and get dressed, the light leather armor perfectly sculpted to his frame. The familiar weight made him comfortable, and when he sheathed his swords, he was finally complete. 

There was a lot of ground to cover before they set off for Kaer Morhen, and even if Yennefer was just going to conjure up one of her damned portals, he still needed supplies. And Yen wasn’t known for her low profile, if he was going to get in and out of Novigrad without turning heads he needs to leave before she gets up. He shoulders the leather pack and exits his room, heading down the sparsely lit hall to the stairs, careful not to creak the floorboards. No sooner had he descended the first step, an uncharacteristically soft voice called out to him. “...Geralt?”

If there’s a god out there,  _ any  _ god, please help him. “Yes?” He ground out through his teeth. He cast an annoyed glance over his shoulder, where Yen was standing in the hall, already fully dressed. And not to his surprise, it looked expensive and stealable. 

“Where  _ exactly _ are you going?” She had her hands on her hips, trying to send a piercing glare back at him. Her fake bravado was overshadowed by the slight quiver in her voice. 

“Supplies run. Gotta problem with that?” He doesn’t intend for it to come off as sharp as it sounds, but when he sees her visibly deflate, he immediately regrets it. Usually, she’d come back with an equally sharp jab, but the way her shoulders just slump at the comment made his insides twist. He steps back up the step and into the hall, leaning against the corner.

“Well, then,” She takes a deep breath and resets. “I will join you, I could find some supplies I need as well.” A small, insincere grin graces her features and Geralt curses whatever shred of politeness he has left for letting her tag along as she strides past him, heading down the stairs. He follows after a few seconds of recollecting himself. 

Novigrad was in the middle of a morning rush, people and horses and carts were crowded in the streets, coming and going from work. Not a single noise could be heard over the roar of the crowds, and it wasn’t like they were talking much anyway. The pair ducked in and out of shops, Geralt doing most of the haggling and conversation, people seemed far more ready to compromise when he spoke. At least she had the decency of pulling on her cloak, obscuring most of the more expensive looking accessories but nonetheless, she drew more eyes to them than Geralt wanted. Yen just stayed eerily close, and strangely silent throughout most of the interactions. 

On the third establishment, Geralt leaves with a much lighter coin purse, but a satchel brimming with seasoned cured meat and those candied apples he was so fond of. He steps outside, Yennefer in tow. Bracing himself in the crisp early winter air. Pleased with his haul, he only had a few more stops to make and he’d finally be comfortable leaving Novigrad. It was midday now, the sun glaring down on the city and its denizens. It was turning out to be a lovely day so far, that is until he remembers Yennefer was still there. “Geralt?” She asks him in a whisper, violent eyes peering out from under the brim of her hood. 

“Yes?” He says, stowing away his coin purse so no wide-eyed street urchin could snatch it while he wasn’t looking. They kept walking up the narrow side street, effortlessly weaving through the swarms of people.

“I believe we should talk.” her voice is timid, shy almost.

“Didn’t we do that already?” he grumbles, dodging a woman carrying an obscenely large amount of fruit.

“Yet I can’t seem to shake the feeling you’re very upset with me.”

He sighs. He’d have to say this sooner or later. “On the contrary, I don’t feel a thing about what happened. You acting like a wounded kitten every time I look in your direction is what’s bothering me.” the words came out like daggers from his lips. He was tired of this, isn’t this what she wanted? Her curiosity was sated, he couldn’t help that she couldn’t deal with it. He doesn’t look back at what must have been hurt in her eyes.

“Well look who it is! Geralt is that you?!” A familiar musical voice calls out to him from across the street, making the witcher freeze in place. “I’d know those swords anywhere!” 

Yennefer just looks at him with mild confusion as he continues to be silent. “I’m assuming you know him?”

Geralt turns, and it’s like the sun is beaming directly into his sensitive eyes. Dandelion is bounding over from across the street. The sight isn’t something new to him, but it pushes a breath of fresh air into his lungs. The other man is a bit awkward and stilted as he makes his way over. And Geralt almost smiles a little. “Hey, Dandelion.”


	2. A Discussion Between Old F(lames)riends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion joins the company.

“What brings you to Novigrad, my ornery friend?” He steps over street filth and weaves in between the grisled pedestrians to clap his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. Yennefer reels for a moment when the other man doesn’t shy away from the touch or swat at the hands. She doesn’t know if she should be silent or not and the emotions that war in her eyes as the exchange continues to prevent her from piping up. Ignoring Geralt’s immediate lack of an answer, he continues talking. “If I had known you’d be in the city I would have sent for you!” He plants his fists on either of his hips, beaming out one of his blinding smiles. “Where are you off to my friend?” 

“Kaer Morhen.” He responds quicker than he can process the words. And Yennefer shoots him an accusatory look that is obviously screaming something along the lines of ‘I thought you knew how to keep your mouth shut’ but he doesn’t really care and internally chuckles at the idea of Yen getting back to her old self.

“An adventure I’m assuming?” The bard replies and tucks a hand gingerly under his chin in a mock display of a thought. “Well…” he leans in and hooks an arm around Geralt’s shoulders, shaking him with palpable excitement, and pulling his most sly sounding voice.“Have you ever considered needing a bard for this particular journey?” And to both Yennefer and Geralt’s own surprise, this actually elicited an unfiltered chuckle from the witcher. 

“Can I ask why?” Geralt says and folds his arms across his chest, a mirthful smile playing on his lips.

“Not here my dear Geralt.” He puts a finger to his lips and gestures with another hand somewhere up the road. “Let’s grab a drink and swap stories.” Yennefer almost speaks up to protest but the witcher was swept up in Dandelion’s posturing grandeur and off to the nearest drinking establishment.

-0-

Yennefer is crowded into a foul-smelling corner of the tavern that Dandelion had so graciously suggested. Smoke and ale and piss combined into a fitting miasma that made it almost hard to breathe. She was already beginning to feel like a third wheel, and she wasn’t liking it. And Geralt seemed to just  _ love  _ her discomfort, damn near cheerfully complying with the inane suggestion to come here. The other two settled in quite comfortably, they leaned over the crude and dilapidated table like this was some sort of royally important mission that required all the conventions of secrecy and subterfuge. “Now,” Dandelion started, capturing both their attentions, “For fear of being overheard by my many, many patrons,” Yennefer rolled her eyes. “I seem to be in a bit of a slump in my writing, the spirit of inspiration has not been to visit in a long time, and I am afraid that only field experience will sate my need for creation.” The bard takes a long swig from his drink, playing off like what he said wasn’t almost complete nonsense.

“So you want to come with us so you can write about it?” Geralt deadpans. And Yennefer assumes that he was going to make a (reasonable) comment about how ridiculous that was, or how it was dangerous it could be, or how this bumbling fool could get in the way of the plan they have been working on for months. But he doesn’t.

“Sure.” Geralt says like what Dandelion suggested wasn’t outrageous or anything. “What’s the worst that could happen?” And the bard's eyes lit up like a festival square.

“I don’t think that’s the wisest decision Geralt.” Yennefer finally interjects, pushing away her flagon of piss drivel. “We’re going to be doing some…” She searched for a way to explain without revealing everything to the bard in front of them. “ _ Delicate  _ work.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and turns back to Dandelion. “We’re going to uproot a nest of Ashner Wyverns that have taken hold of the foot of the mountain to Kaer Morhen. It’s disrupting travel, and the only way to get there right now without getting mauled to death is to teleport.”

Dandelion’s already wide eyes glittered with excitement and he scurried to get to his satchel at his side, pulling out an old tattered journal and a crooked writing utensil. “Ashner Wyverns you say? What rhymes with that?”

“Geralt!” Yennefer snaps. “Don’t just pretend like I didn’t say anything!”

“He’ll be fine.” He says in his usual monotone. “You heard him, something something about the spirit of inspiration. He  _ has _ to come with us.” Dandelion eagerly beams, scratching his final notes on the yellowed page of his notebook before closing it with a snap and shoving it into his satchel.

“And, it won’t take me long to get the rest of my travel arrangements together.”

Geralt nodded. “The others aren’t expecting us until sundown anyway, this won’t take long.”

Yennefer was either coming to the verge of insanity or Geralt was doing this on  _ purpose _ because she couldn’t fathom him honestly considering this. “Geralt,” she tries to say, sympathetically. “He  _ cannot _ come with us.” But again, she’s ignored.

“We’ll have to stop and get a few more things,” The witcher makes a verbal note, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. He looks Dandelion up and down, taking in his measurements. “You’ll need some new clothes, and...have you ever used a crossbow before?” 

The bard shook his head like an idiot, but a cheerful one at that. He was all too eager to go on an extremely dangerous mission that he more than anyone else in their company would be likely to die on, and it made the sorceress furious. Yennefer kept looking back and forth between them, trying to register what exactly was going on.

“Well you’re gonna learn.” Geralt stands up from their table, dusting of the front of his jerkin, motioning for the other two to do the same. “You can come with us or you can wait here Yen.” he finally turns back to her, “I’m heading back to the armorer next to the docks.” 

Dandelion bounced up next to his compatriot, walking with a spring in his step as Geralt led them both out of the tavern. Yennefer stayed behind for a few more seconds, caught up in her own thoughts, before she shook her head and followed after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It took me so long to get this together, and I'm excited because I kind of already have the rest of the plot planned. Between finals week and everything else, I'm just glad it exists. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	3. Linka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt takes Dandelion Shopping

The two men were shoulder to shoulder as they trotted down the grimy streets, leaving Yennefer far behind them. She was fine with the lack of company, in fact, she was grateful to have a reprieve from their boyish banter. Geralt was determined and methodical, weaving through the crowds of people with Dandelion at his hip until they reached the docks, where far fewer people were clumped on the roads. Yennefer was able to catch up with them as they strode up to a sleepy blacksmith’s nestled between another market and a row of houses. It was late in the afternoon now, but the smoke still curled up from its large chimney in lazy ribbons.

They were standing at the corner, traffic gliding past them like they weren’t even there. He bumps the bard in the shoulder with his elbow. “Now,” Geralt said in an aside to Dandelion. “Don’t say anything stupid.” The bard nods with a solemn furrow of his brows, hands twitching around the strap of his satchel. Another few heartbeats pass, as if Geralt is waiting for something, and Yennefer almost asks what they’re waiting for, but Dandelion finally piped back up with his long-awaited nonsense.

“Is the blacksmith some sort of foul-mouthed brigand?” He said in an excited whisper. He then reached down into his satchel to tug at his notebook. “Should I be taking notes?” Yennefer rolls her eyes and strides up to Geralt’s other shoulder.

“You aren’t really going to let him come are you?” She spits a panicked whisper up at him, but he doesn’t respond. She huffs again, folding her arms and pulling her expensive cloak further over her eyes. “His funeral, I suppose.” And  _ that _ earns her a sharp glare from the taller man.

“Not now Dandelion,” He snatched the notebook out of the bard’s hands as soon as it’s pulled free from his bag. Earning him a displeased and unmanly whine from his friend. “No more stupid things from now until we leave the smith.” He chuckles as poor Dandelion’s demeanor deflates. But the dejected bard still follows close behind Geralt as he walked up to the entrance.

“Linka?!” Geralt yells as he crosses the threshold. “Linka are you home?” there’s a clamor of metal and wood somewhere off in the smith, but no other response. Geralt seems to just ignore the oppressive heat the swallows them up as soon as they walk in, or the overbearing smell of old animal skins and burning flesh that punches Yennefer in the gut as soon as she can take a steady breath. Dandelion doesn’t seem affected either, or maybe he was just taking Geralt’s command from earlier a bit too seriously. He stood obediently in the other man’s shadow, eyes wandering about the room. “Linka, I saw the smoke outside. I know you’re in here.” 

There’s another clash of metal against metal and a stout woman appears in the archway across from them. She has broad shoulders and heat-darkened skin, and her accusatory eyes are sunken deep into their sockets. “What did I tell you about coming here, boy.” She spat, folding her arms across her wide chest. 

“I need a half leather outfitting for this man here, and an extra crossbow if you have one. I’ll pay you extra because I showed up late.” Geralt folds his arms at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Yennefer thinks for a second that they may come to blows, but they stay like that for a minute, until the woman breaks character with a relenting sigh, and heads back into the smith. 

“Bring him in, boy.” She grumbles and Geralt bumps Dandelion in the shoulder, urging him to follow her. Child-like excitement back in full force, Dandelion bounds over to the other side of the smithy, following the woman around the corner. Geralt takes a heavy breath and turns to head back outside. Yennefer follows him.

He plops himself down on the front steps, relaxing his shoulders. The sun was setting on the ocean behind him, but he seemed more content to watch the evening traffic roll by. Yennefer took a seat next to him, squeezing her body between him and the wall. It’s the closest they’ve been since they were on the ship, and she scolds herself for the tingles it sends through her body.

“She works best when people aren’t crowding in her shop.” He deadpans. Yennefer hums and nods, not sure if that was an invitation to start a conversation or not. They sit in silence again, but Geralt looks more comfortable than she does, eyes drifting through the sparse crowds of people.

“Geralt…” Yennefer starts, she knows asking again would be beating a dead horse but she can’t help but feel the need to bring it up. He doesn’t give her a response, but he side-eyes her to let her know she has his attention. “Why  _ are _ we bringing Dandelion?” There’s a pause, where the whole world seems to go silent around him as he thinks.

He shrugs, in a rather anticlimactic fashion. “I wanted him to come I guess.” And he leaves it at that. Yennefer wants to press for more questions, but she resigns to his answer. He’s still holding Dandelion’s satchel, absentmindedly thumbing the strap of it in his hands. 

“We’re done here, boy!” They hear Linka shout. And Geralt hops up like he’s been waiting to hear it. Yennefer doesn’t even have time to scramble up behind him as he re-enters the blacksmith. He’s greeted by a grinning Dandelion in a partial outfitting of leather armor, complete with a holster for his new crossbow. It still carries Dandelions flair for the dramatic, tiny etchings of flowers and branches rest along the edges of each of the sections.

“How do I look Geralt?” The bard smiles and then strikes a ‘heroic’ pose. “Dashing? Daring?” he strikes another pose, “Do you feel the need to fawn at my heels like a distressed maiden?” He gets a laugh out of Geralt. And a sigh from Yennefer. 

“What did I say about saying something stupid.” The witcher tries to grouse. 

“You’re also paying extra for the holster,” Linka says and holds out her hand. Obediently, Geralt reaches into his pack and pulls out a small bag of coins and drops it in her waiting palm.

“And the crossbow?” He says and on cue the woman pulls the weapon from nowhere, handing it over to him.

“Don’t say ol’ Linka has never done anything for you, boy.” She yawns and tosses a rag over her shoulder. “I’m closing up, boy.” She pats Dandelion on the shoulder as she heads to the back. “Stay safe.” Dandelion is beaming in his filigree and has to be hauled out by the witcher and the sorceress by the collar. 

When they’re back outside, the cool night air greets them and the last of the traffic is slowing down to a trickle. “Are we ready to leave now?” Yennefer says, taking the lead of them in the center of the road. Geralt sneaks a glance to Dandelion, who was still admiring the armor and tosses him his satchel.

“Alright,” he sighs, “We’re ready.” He internally twitches at the thought of going through another one of her portals, but Dandelion seems positively giddy.

“Off to adventure, we go then?” He strides back up to Geralt, satchel in hand and nudges him in the shoulder. Geralt visibly eases at that. Yennefer steps back to stand between them and closes her eyes to focus. She says something unintelligible and a gust of wind pushes the air out of the way as a flaring portal appeared in front of them, attracting the ire of almost everyone else left on the street. 

Geralt clenches his fists and braces himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a little bit early because I just watched the first episode of the Witcher series on Netflix! Leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	4. We've Arrived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Kaer Morhen.

“Now,” Yennefer says as the air pushes past them and ruffles through her perfect ringlets. “Kaer Morhen is quite a distance from here. Make sure Dandelion doesn’t flip himself inside out on the way through.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer as she steps through the rift. Dandelion watched with a smalle sense of horror as her form disappeared into the rippling mist. The grip on his satchel was now deadly and his feet were planted firmly on the ground. “S-she wasn’t serious,” He turns to Geralt, “Right?” Geralt’s features were contorted in a look of mild displeasure but aside from that, it was hard for Dandelion to gauge his reaction.

“Not sure.” He grunts after a few more seconds of awkward silence. It doesn’t reassure the bard.

“Of course,” Dandelion huffed and looked back to the shimmering portal. “Off to adventure.” He says, defeated. With a steady hand on his satchel and the other on the butt of his crossbow, he prepares to step forward into the mist in front of him but is stopped by a hand clapping on his shoulder.

“You’re going to want to hold onto me when we go through.” Geralt says gruffly and immediate confusion slips into Dandelion’s head. “This is your first time through a portal, and it’s not going to treat you well.” The witcher steps a small bit past him, outstretching his hand. “Just don’t let go of me and you’ll be fine.”

Dandelion stares at the offering for a second, then back up at Geralt. As per usual, he was wearing an unreadable expression, but the bard couldn’t help but think this was all a little bit unnecessary. In fact, the thought finally crosses his mind, that this entire day had been a little unnecessary. Something was off with Geralt, and now it’s finally making itself clear to him. He thinks he should ask, that would probably be a reasonable thing to do right now, but the words escape him when the witcher speaks again.

“We should go now Dandelion before the others start to worry.” He casts a wary look at Geralt and with a bit of hesitation, takes his hand. No sooner when his palm is settled in Geralt’s as he pulled forward and into the rift, and into oblivion.

It like being dipped in a pool of ice-cold water at first. Dipping through the surface to a silent void. Where only he and Geralt had any real form. And then, in the second after he fully passes through, the miles upon miles of land crash past and through him, knocking the wind from his lungs and forcing his eyes shut. It split every speck of him apart and crushed him back together with the pressure of the earth itself. He has no room to think or breath and all he can feel is pain and sorrow and fear. Geralt is there beside him and had it not been for their entwined fingers he would have assumed he was lost to the void. As the passing thought manifest, his is consumed with the witcher, a lifetime of pondering consuming him in a second. Every memory, every glance he ever spared at the man is laid bare at the forefront of his mind and he can’t comprehend the feelings he has as they’re ripped straight from his heart. And then they were out. 

He crashed with unsteady feet onto a cold stone floor, surrounded by darkness. Dandelion’s knees buckled under the feeling of his own weight again, like they had never been used before. Geralt catches him underneath the stomach, propping the other man up on his chest. The bard feels the vibration as the other man chuckles.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

Dandelion heaves, his whole body shuddered as it copes with being reassembled and it isn’t coping well. “I don’t want to go on this adventure anymore Geralt,” he says, and his voice is foreign to his ears.

“Now, what about all that bullshit about the spirit of creativity and all that.” He can hear the ghost of his smile in his words. “Come on, let’s get you to your room. The effect of the portal should wear off soon.

“Fucking hope it does.” Dandelion tries to laugh, but it comes out as another gag. “A caved-in stomach makes an ill home for the spirit of inspiration.”

His arm is slung around Geralt’s shoulder, while a free hand wraps around his waist. The small gesture light a flare where Geralt’s hands touch him. That wasn’t normal, right? He’s too punch drunk to make an accurate assessment of the situation, but Dandelion is pretty sure the witcher didn’t smell like a combination of musk and leather a few moments ago. And he was also sure that he didn’t like those smells either. The two make their way past instruments of alchemy, glass tubes and bottles as thin as paper and twisted in odd shapes. Despite his precarious situation, Dandelion commits the objects to memory. “Where are we?” He whispers more to himself than the witcher, but he replies anyways.

“Vesemir’s observation room. It’s got one of those shiny spheres sorcerers use to get around.” His voice his warm and deep and by God Dandelion should not be so titillated by the vibration of his voice against his ears.

“Shiny spheres, right.” Dandelion says thoughtfully, trying to hide the flutter in his heartbeat. “I’ll make a note of that.”

“Just focus on not vomiting on my gambeson.” Geralt grunts. He takes them to the stairwell, which leads them straight down into another hallway. Torches are lit on either side of them, stretching down the corridor. Light conversation could be heard from the left, Yennefer’s voice carrying over all the others. He debates taking Dandelion in there first, maybe Vesemir would have something for the bard’s portal sickness. But and indescribable feeling comes over him, and he’s loathed to let the others see Dandelion like this. He can hear the man’s fast heartbeat, and sweat was starting to bead along his hairline. The bard needed rest, not the old witcher’s prodding.

The bard is slumping more and more against Geralt’s shoulder. And the witcher assumes his legs are refusing to keep him up, but Dandelion was trying to encroach more and more into the other man’s space. He wanted to soak in his smell, permanently imprint it into his nose even. Shame is an afterthought in his mind as he rubs his cheek into the other man’s shoulder like some well-paid whore. The witcher takes him down the right side of the hall, where the torches were slowly fading the deeper they went inside the fortress. Towards the end, they came upon several doors, each opening to a small unlit room. Geralt shoulders into the first he can get to and thanks whatever God that could be that it was unoccupied.

Without any effort on his part, they shuffle over to the bed and Dandelion is dropped unceremoniously onto the sheets, armor and all. He looks dazed and a bit confused, but lucid. Geralt cups him under the chin in a gentle gesture, turning his head this way and that checking for any other signs of portal sickness.

Geralt is, pretty. Dandelion thinks. Reality has been swirling around him, making him a bit seasick, but Geralt was steady and unchanging. He watched listlessly as the golden yellow eyes scanned over him, helpless to the other man’s whims. It’s only when Geralt’s hand leaves his chin that he even realizes he had been leaning in closer. “How are you feeling?” The witcher asks with a frown.

“Like I’m floating.” The bard says without thinking. “Why?”

“Portal sickness can sometimes give you this sense of euphoria. It seems like its hitting you pretty hard.” Geralt stands up and stretches. The bard’s wanton eyes drag up and down his body. But other than that, he’s limp on the bed. He blinks slowly, watching with unadulterated interest as the other man looks down at him. “You should get some rest, I have to go speak with the others.” The witcher tries to ignore the low whining noise he hears from the other man as he said it, chalking it up to the illness. Despite his oddly needy behavior, the bard was already passed out in a blissed stupor as Geralt left.

He wasn’t actually going to regroup with the others. It was late, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything Yennefer didn’t already. So he trudges back to his own room down the hall. It was a bit larger than the other guest rooms like the one Dandelion was holed up in, and it felt nice to be somewhere familiar. The fire has long been cold, and the room smells musty but it comforts him in a way. He was back home. He tries to forget about Yennefer for tonight at least. And Dandelion was going to be alright, but Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes. The way they just followed him with those glassy, blown pupils. Maybe it was because he wasn’t endowed with magic, but he didn’t know portal sickness could hit someone that hard. He peels away each layer of armor, tossing it aside somewhere off in his room. As he finally lay beneath the sheets his last thoughts are definitely not of Dandelion.

-0-

Warm, heavy thighs are straddling him. Slender hips roll and sway on his lap pushing a tight heat down onto him. His eyes are closed, all he can focus on are the wandering hands on his chest leaving trails of goose flesh behind as they caress him. Even the sheets below him are softer than he could ever describe. It’s nothing but wanton pleasure as he and his lover move in seamless tandem. He moans out a name he doesn’t understand and pushes his hips forward and slams his cock deeper into the warmth. Pliant skin bruises beneath the grip of his fingers on those delicate hips. But the voice that groans when he hits just the right spot is not a woman’s. “I want to hear my name Geralt,” The voice is soft and familiar. “Please.”

“Dandelion.” He whispers into the other man’s lips. But the noise his lover makes is disappointed. 

“My  _ name _ .” He pleads again as he starts to leave a trail of kisses down the witcher’s throat. Their pace is slower now but deep, and he can feel the heat building up in his stomach.

“J-jaskier.” The bard groans and pushes down his hips, burying the moan int the crook of Geralt’s neck. The sound pushes him over the edge, and soft lips meet him as they both climax. Him inside the other, and his lover over and across his chest.

He wakes up with a strangled gasp. The room is dark and cold but he’s sweating and he can feel an unpleasant stickiness between his legs. “Fuck.” He grunts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last update for a little while because I have a bunch of other stuff I'm gonna be working on and I have uni starting up tomorrow. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	5. The Great Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teams are split up.

Geralt stretches the stiff muscles in his back, opening his eyes to the dim light of the window. It was probably dawn. He was still tired. Listening carefully for any signs of movement in the other rooms, he could hear nothing but the sound of Dandelion’s soft snoring behind the adjacent wall. He doesn’t want to get up anymore, in fact, he’s pretty comfortable. The pitch is near silent. Nearly as soft as Jaskier’s heartbeat. Dandelion’s heartbeat. 

He should get out of bed and find Yennefer and the others. It's early and he’s going to have to get ready either way. Yennefer wasn’t as good at talking to witchers compared to diplomats, and if he was stubborn, Lambert was a brick wall. Instead, the witcher lay motionless on the rough mattress. Just as Geralt catches the faint sound of birds through his window, Dandelion wakes with a start. The illusion of a few bits of serenity gone once and for all, Geralt finally sits up and out of bed.

-0-

The main hall was full. Lambert and Eskel were sulking in the shadow of the two sorceresses, who were arguing over something Geralt could only make out the tail-end of. 

“If we just leave the Keep by itself, there is no guarantee that some of the Wyverns won’t be driven straight to the forest around it.” Triss was standing among an audience of three, Yennefer and the two other Witchers, all in the same vein of unpleasantness. ”We should have someone stay here and at least keep watch so that there won’t be an ambush waiting for us when we return.” Triss dissented.

“If we ensure that we eradicate their nests by splitting into several covert groups, then we won’t have to worry about stragglers and we can finish this whole mess in a much more timely manner.” Yennefer said in her usual self-satisfied timbre.

As Triss rolled her eyes, she caught sight of Geralt looming in the adjacent doorway. She lifts her head to speak, “If the wyverns get attacked without someone defending the keep, then no one can protect it when we run the wyverns out of their nest and up the mountain!” Geralt walks into with full leather armor, both swords sheathed at his back.

“And why can’t we just run them down a mountain?” He grunts, sticking to the shaded entrance to the dining hall.

“There’s a village at the foot of the mountain, remember? If we push them below the treeline that’s the only place with enough shelter for them to go, there’s too many to get them all at once.” Eskel was hunched over his chair, a drink in his hand. 

“I’m with Yen, if we go all at once, we can chase them down the mountain and no one gets hurt. Fight fire with fire and all.” Lambert muses from the opposite side of the table.

“But we aren’t even sure how many there are Lambert!” Triss counters.

“There are two main nests, but Vesemir has been gone for almost three years now, they could have had time to branch off into smaller places higher on the mountain.” Eskel knocks back his drink and slams it on the table. He yawns and leans back. “What’s your call Geralt?” 

He looked at Yennefer and she gave him an expectant glare. Before he could open his mouth, Dandelion popped out from behind him, his leather finery scandalously left untied in the front. “I don’t know about you all, but giving up the castle is not a possibility  _ I  _ would be willing to take, even including the rather roguish hospitality.” He sauntered in and dropped into a seat in the center of the fray, splaying himself over the wooden chair like a fine King.

Triss, despite receiving another vote of confidence, looked confused. She shifted her look from Geralt to Yennefer, the other witch was uncharacteristically silent. Geralt acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “I...didn’t know you would be joining us Dandelion, thank you for your input.”

Geralt is a bit confused, both witchers’ eyes are on him with shit-eating grins to match. Lambert stands up, interrupting the others with a well-placed cough. “It’s settled then, the bard says that we should have someone defend Kaer Moren, I say he and the wolf stay back while Eskel and I each take a sorceress to the main nests.”

“Pardon me to question the bard,” Yennefer strikes a look at Dandelion. He responds with a curious quirk of his eyebrow, before looking to Geralt. The wolf’s eyes say nothing. “But we’re trying to get them out before there’s any more snow below the treeline. We can’t wait for Vesemir and we--” 

Lambert snaps, “No more planning, we can head out and be back before tomorrow morning. If the wolf can keep the stragglers from getting too far, then we’ll be fine.” He sneaks a look to Geralt, whose expression was sour. “Geralt and Dandelion stay here, Triss and I will head southeast, Eskel, and Yennefer northeast. We should leave before dark so we can be back before Vesemir gets here.” With flippant finality, he hooks Eskel by the arm and near drags him out of the room.

“Hmph.” Both of the sorceress's eyes are on him. He stands up from the wall and stretches. “You should get going, there’s a lot Lambert and Eskel will need help with before you head out.”

“I still think we’re wasting resources here.” Yennefer jabs. Nonetheless, she quickly traces the steps of the other two witchers. 

“Be safe, Geralt,” Triss whispers to him as she follows suit.

Geralt and the bard are left in the empty hall, now quiet enough to hear the birdsong through the windows. “Do you have any friends that aren’t threatening?” The bard chuckled. “It felt like I was in Lady Demonet’s court again.”

“The widow?”

“Precisely.”

He wouldn’t give the bard the satisfaction of him laughing. With a huff, he speaks, “We need to get ready, too. How many times have you shot a crossbow?” Geralt pivots.

The wordsmith, now disarmed, went silent.

“Right, we have some targets on the other side of the keep. We can practice there until the others are ready to leave. We’ll have to patrol the east gate by the time they reach the forest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it has been awhile. A bit of a writers block. Covid happened. Rewrote Chapter 4 times. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't , or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	6. Riviere and Toussaint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt takes Dandelion down to the witcher's armory.

“Lead the way then, sir witcher.” Dandelion bows dramatically and Geralt just strides past him, rolling his eyes. The bard follows behind as the wolf leads them out of the Great Hall and down a flight of stairs lit only by low-burning torches.

It smelled musty, years of underuse was kicked up by the two men. The winding staircase leads them farther down than Dandelion would have expected, “Aren’t we going out to the yard?” He asks, and Geralt nods.

“Gotta head to the armory first.”

Eventually, the stairwell opens up into a small receiving room with several benches lined against the walls. On the other side of the room was an old door, a rusted lock decaying along its edge. The benches were strangely low to the floor, and there was an old weather-beaten rug, stained and fraying.

“This is where we waited for our lessons.” Geralt said off-handedly, walking up to the door. Dandelion looks again at the benches, imagining a little white-haired Geralt swinging his legs to entertain himself. It makes him smile. “You can’t enter this room without an amulet.” He reaches into his light shirt and pulls up the heavy chain. Geralt lifts it up over his head, and as the medallion sits comfortably in his palm, he slides it against the lock. There’s a pulse in his hand and a click as the lock undoes itself. In a fluid motion, he loops the necklace back around his neck and opens the door. Dandelion stands behind him, tapping his foot impatiently. “Come in, there are more weapons in here.”

“Finally,” The bard shoulders past Geralt and into the armory. Well, it was more like a witcher’s laboratory. More strange glass structures filled with liquids in colors Dandelion assumes isn’t natural. Jars and books line the shelves in the back, while racks of dull swords were hung next to the window. And another weapon rack was leaned against the far wall. Four stained tables were arranged in the center of the room, stacked high with papers and leather-bound books as well. 

“I was expecting, well, a few more weapons actually.” Dandelion snorted, but his eyes kept searching the walls. Every corner of the room was stuffed full of something or another. 

“Vesemir experiments with the alchemic recipes down here.” Geralt meanders to the old weapon rack. “We’d sit at the tables and he’d show us how to make things like Swallow.” Geralt was being more forthcoming than he thought possible, this space felt safe, it felt familiar. 

“Swallow?” Dandelion questioned, walking past the tables and towards the back wall.

“Something witchers can use to heal, it’s toxic for humans. Tastes like fire and salt.” Geralt picks up a leaf-blade dagger from its place on the rack and holds it up to inspect. 

“Sounds lovely,” Dandelion snorts. “What are we doing down here, exactly?” He reaches out and touches the spines of the books, wiping away years of dust. The books looked as old as the dust, and some were even written in a language he couldn’t understand.

“There are some spare weapons down here that you can use.” Geralt turns and looks at Dandelion, who was busily admiring the books. “There aren’t a lot of weapons made for humans around here, and most of the witchers already have their swords.” He walks up to him, standing just off his shoulder. The bard was still distracted by the books; he pulls one off the shelf and opens it, scanning down the page. Geralt just watches, dagger in hand as Dandelion thinks. His brows furrow and his eyes sparkle with mischief only known to him.

“A knight with many a dragon and so few damsels… something, something about his ‘swords’; I knew I should have brought my notebook.” He turns a page in his book, running a thumb over a detailed illustration of vampire teeth.

“That sounds awful,” Geralt grunts.

“Well, it's not finished yet, Geralt.” He replies, “Masterpieces require a good bit of thought.” He turns and the witcher is much closer than he expected, they’re only a breaths distance apart. Primal yellow bores down into piercing blue and Dandelion smirks.

“Oh, I see,” He giggles, “This is like Toussaint all over again.” 

Geralt goes bright red. “This is  _ not _ like Toussaint,” he huffs, “And you barely remember it, you were drunk damn near the whole time you were there.”

“Wine doesn’t take your memory the way that ale you drink does.” Dandelion countered, snapping the book shut. “And besides,  _ you  _ remember enough for both of us.” Geralt’s hands twitch, he should leave the room before someone else follows them down the stairs. Dandelion sets the book down on the nearest table and takes another step into Geralt's space, and the witcher can smell the flowers in his cologne. 

“Y-yes, yes I do.” Geralt said in the most monotone voice he could muster. 

“Maybe you can confirm my memory for me,” He says in a soft, sultry tone. Geralt swallows the lump in his throat. Dandelion walks back and leans against the table, sitting on it. Keeping his eyes on Geralt, he leans back on his elbows and spreads his knees the slightest bit. “We were coming back from Lady Lilainne’s party and it was hot and we were both drunk,” he pops the ‘k’ and watched as Geralt squirmed, his cheeks bright pink, “You said there was something fun in the empty solar on the second floor and…”

“Yes, I remember,” he cuts the other man off and sneaks another look to the door. “We just,..” He bends down to pick up the forgotten dagger, “We need to be ready before the others leave. I need to look for a book.” 

Dandelion’s smirk doesn’t die down. “So, less like Toussaint and more like Riviere?” 

Geralt’s brows furrow. “The fencing tournament?”

“The snowstorm, actually.” The bard says smoothly. “The militia-men had to leave the hold to go look for help…” 

“Oh.” Geralt nearly drops the dagger again, “I-um, we’ll see.” 

The smirk turns into a genuine smile, “Then we should find that book of yours then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a lot longer than usual, so it may take a while until the next update. (It's because it's going to be smut.) If you like the chapter, leave a kudos. Leave a comment if you have a question, a comment, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 50th fic, and also something that I'm hoping will come out as well as I've planned it. Its a culmination of requests, personal interests, and work. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


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